


he's like the wishful thinking in my life

by bloomfields



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, sappy real madrid team fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:10:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomfields/pseuds/bloomfields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He feels James’ hand on his neck, his thumb strokes a line down the soft skin behind his ear. He’s so captivated he barely hears the door open.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>So it's a 5 times someone interrupted James and Isco +1 time they didn't fic. Surprisingly (disappointingly?) none of those times are sex. Basically, they stare at each other a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's like the wishful thinking in my life

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i'm the first to post something about these two on here, but they're cute together right? and imo if people can write so much toni/james (which i love too!!) then this can definitely be a thing.  
> my inspiration for the dance scene comes from a real life video i've seen of james which i'm pretty sure is on youtube and i would deff recommend it.  
> the title is from a lisa hannigan song called Sea Song.

**1.**

 

James always enjoys the early mornings at Valdebebas, driving towards training before the sun has fully risen, the Madrid streets near empty. The purr of his car is the only noise that follows him as he parks, along with the rush of seeing the logo everywhere he looks and on his own clothes, a daily reminder of the team he now plays for. Signing for Real Madrid was some unachievable dream for so long, and now it has happened and Real has radicalised James’ life so much, it surprises him how much is still the same. 

His family back in Ibagué still love just as much, Salome does not care about the shirt he wears, his heart still beats for his country. Anyone who is part of _los blancos_ needs these grounding aspects of their lives, in order to keep themselves from getting swept away.

He walks into the cafeteria, where most of his teammates have dragged themselves bleary-eyed, hunched over some fruit and egg white omelettes, dispersed across the tables. It makes him smile to see such legends on the field, struggle to keep their eyes open for more than a few seconds; he walks past Iker who is grumbling to Fabio about how Martin just _wouldn’t settle at all_ last night. 

 

James opts to sit next to Chicha who looks awake enough, simultaneously checking his phone and eating cereal. James murmurs a greeting as he grabs a cup of coffee.

“Hey buddy” He says, squinting and sticking out his tongue as he holds up his iphone to snap a quick shot of James. Marcelo who is on the other side of Chicha watches over his shoulder as he promptly instagrams the picture with the caption “Good morning people!! Another day of training!! #halamadrid @jamesrodriguez10”.

“What kind of caption is that? Needs more emojis.” Marcelo says, scornful.

“I’m getting to it, man! What ones should I use? The party popper or the bicep one?”

James isn’t really feeling up to an in-depth discussion of emojis so he starts to blank out their chatter and silently scans across the room. Most of the squad has arrived by now, and James watches as two tables over, Isco sits next to Illarra and starts on his plate of food. 

After his initial arrival in Madrid, James fretted about how players like Isco would react to his transfer, competition for starts is always going to be fierce at Real and another big money transfer is only going to make things worse. However, Isco never showed any resentment towards James, only a warmth that made James’ fears disappear immediately. James can see how skilled a player Isco is, and how well they join up together on the field, he would have to be blind to miss it. 

Isco suddenly looks up and catches James staring in his direction, a smile breaks out on his face, the white of his teeth contrasting with his dark beard. James grins too, feeling the heat that blooms on his cheeks but he doesn’t look away. Isco teasingly raises his eyebrows as he catches the tip of tongue between his teeth and James has to hide his smile behind his coffee cup. They continue to stare at each other for a minute, grinning like fools. Isco then spears a chunk of pineapple off his plate with his fork and slowly, without breaking from James’ eyes, raises it to his mouth and eats it. James is a little entranced and when Isco winks victoriously at him, James can’t help but breathe out a quiet, stunned laugh.

“Hammy, were you just laughing at thin air?” Marcelo asks, both him and Chicha staring, bewildered.

“Uhh, no I..” James looks down at the table, recollecting his thoughts, before looking up at the two with a smile “I’m just tired, still half dreaming I think.”  
He knows it’s a flimsy excuse and they look unconvinced, if the furrow in Chicha’s brows is anything to go by. James grits his teeth, and flits his gaze briefly over to Isco before officially giving up on returning to their little moment. 

“So did you really add bicep emojis on that picture of me? That’s kind of tacky.”

“Too late.” Chicha grins “I put seven.”

Later, after training when James is home and he’s snoozing on the couch with Salome a warm weight tucked under one arm, he remembers how his heart skipped a beat at Isco’s grin. 

 

**2.**

 

Real’s winning streak finally ends, with a disappointing away loss. They board the coach for the long journey home, normally the perfect time to dwell on the mistakes and misses, Isco takes the empty seat next to Benz. The striker has missed what should’ve been a tap-in early in the match, and remained unlucky and frustrated for the next seventy minutes; his head is down, ridiculously big headphones shielding him from any conversation. Isco understands the feeling, so he nudges him with his elbow and doesn’t say a word, Benz flicks a quiet smile up at him.

The next week of training is more focused and challenging, the whole team knowing they have to avoid the scrutiny of losing two in a row. If he had to describe the feeling, Isco would say losing a game is like being plunged into the sea and then the race to begin winning again is swimming to reach the surface. Maybe he’s being over-dramatic, but everyone in the squad finds it harder to breathe when they’re losing, the pressure from the fans and the board a suffocating weight on their chests. 

When they reach the next Saturday, he looks around the tunnel and sees the same steely determination to win reflecting in all his teammates. Toni looks up at him and nods before joining the line. Isco can see that Cris is already in the zone, his eyes are shut as he murmurs something down into his open hands, like a prayer. James starts to walk past him, on his way to the bench for today’s game, having run his heart out in last week’s loss. 

Isco holds his hand out for a high-five which he takes, clasping onto his hand for a moment.

“Good luck out there, yeah?” It sounds almost like he’s pleading, his hand holding on warm and tight. It reminds Isco that he’s not as used to the intensity of the pressure put on their team.

“Luck? We don’t need luck.” Isco says, trying to go for reassuring humour “These guys are fourteenth in the table, we can take them easy.”

James doesn’t look one hundred percent convinced, but he nods and squeezes Isco’s hand gratefully before letting go.

 

The game goes as it should do for the first half, with a goal from Gareth and a penalty by Cris. However, by the eighty-fifth minute, it is two all and Isco can hear the noise of the Bernabéu crowd as it starts to get anxious. Although, James has just come on and he provides a much needed burst of energy, instantly providing a chance for Benz. 

The clock ticks on, Isco tries to ignore the impatient whistles from the crowd. Marcelo breaks down the left, still full of unbelievable pace, Isco knows to race forward as he sees the chance opening up before his eyes. Marcelo plays a slick one-two with Cris, who backheels it back to him, slicing the opposition’s defence wide open. James finds himself in a small pocket of space for Marcelo to deftly pass to him.

It’s lightning quick, and Isco gets a perfect view as James only has to dink the ball past the outstretched keeper to score their third goal. The crowd roars and woops as their collective tension releases. Isco feels himself sprinting towards James as he wheels around, his arms wide in celebration. He reaches the Colombian and leaps up to wrap his legs around his waist, knowing James will catch him.

Isco’s arms are wrapped so tight around James’ shoulders; he can feel his racing heartbeat and his heaving ribcage as he pants into Isco’s neck. He can feel James hands digging into the back of his thighs, keeping him close. Isco put his mouth to his ear, lips against the shell of it.

“You did it, Hammy!” He shouts, still not knowing if James can hear him over the din of the fans “I guess we didn’t luck in the end, we just needed you.”

James must’ve heard this as he starts to laugh, he sounds deliriously happy and Isco cannot help but laugh with him. This is how they remain for a few precious seconds, touching all over and giggling together – before they are tumbled into by the rest of their jubilant team. 

Before Isco knows it, his feet are back on the ground, and he is being enveloped into a hug by Sergio who is singing something loud and impossible to understand in his ear. Gradually they all separate from their huddles and return to their positions. 

For the remainder of the match, Isco can only think of how James’ hands moved up to his ass to help him get down, and what James’ thicker thighs would feel like around his own hips. Thankfully, there is not enough time left in the game for any more mistakes, and it ends three-two.

 

**3.**

 

The weather in Madrid changes dramatically over the following month, as weeks of rain made bitingly cold by the wind set in. The days training session so far was frustrating, as James watches the trajectory of another one of his corners bend in the wind. He sees the players waiting to receive the ball grumble and turn their faces away from the driving rain.

“OK, we’ll have to do something else for today.” Carlo says, looking as tired of the winter weather as everyone else “Take a break while we sort something.”

A few players look like they’re trying the huddle like penguins do to conserve warmth, some doing exercises to warm them. He sees Cris doing his trademark jumps that he does on every walk onto the pitch nowadays, laughing as Sergio and Pepe try to copy. James is so entertained he almost misses Isco walking up to him, with an exaggerated pout and frown.

“What’s that face for?” He says as Isco stops next to him, James feels his eyes narrow with his smile. He knows his expression looks stupidly fond. 

“What do you think? It’s freezing!” He makes his answer purposefully whiny “My face is going numb.”

“It’s not that bad” James rolls his eyes before coming up with an idea. He reaches for Isco, his arm around his back pulls him closer. “Come here”

Isco looks surprised but he goes with it, shuffling his feet towards him until their chests are touching. Their eyes meet, he thinks he sees his own uncertainty reflected in those brown eyes. Isco then takes his turn to surprise James, looping an arm around his neck and nestling his icy cold nose against James’ bare skin. He huffs a startled sigh, the contact succeeding in warming his own face. James can feel Isco’s chin resting against his clavicle through his sweater and the brush of his eyelashes as he shuts his eyes. He wonders if they can play off such a tender moment as just a friendly gesture.

 

He turns his head and sees how painfully cold Isco’s hand looks as it rests on his shoulder.

“Where are your gloves?” He asks, his voice gentle murmur.

“Hm?” Isco raises his head to reply, making James hyper-conscious of how close their faces are. He can see how the eyelashes he’d just felt on his neck curled. “Oh.. I forgot my gloves at home”

He smiles bashfully and clenches his reddened hand into a fist.

“Here, let me...” James takes hold of Isco’s hand in his gloved one and ducks out of his arm before stepping in close again. James strips off his own gloves, tucks them under his elbow and clasps Isco’s hands together between his own palms. Isco stays silent, watching as James rubs his thumbs over the back of his hands in a warming-up gesture. Although he’s far too gentle to create any real friction. 

James then raises their hands and bows his own head, so his mouth is close to Isco’s knuckles. He blows his warm breath over them, his lips so close he could swear they brush against Isco’s skin for a millisecond. 

 

“Hey you two. Get in your teams.” Someone calls, James doesn’t catch who.

He drops Isco’s hands and stands up straight, offering him a brief apologetic smile. He’s unable to maintain eye contact with him as he pushes his own gloves into Isco's chest. He takes them and tries to mumble a protest but James has already turned away, denying the temptation to look back.

When he reaches his group, Cris is smirking at him with raised, perfectly styled eyebrows. James thinks over his options, and chooses obliviousness.

“What?” This only makes Cris laugh.

“Oh James, you little flirt” Cris reaches up to muss his hair, James swats at his hand.

“OK OK, just shut up about it, yeah?” James hastily glances over to where their other teammates are stood nearby.

Cris hums and nods, before squeezing his shoulder, “Got it,”

James is grateful.

 

**4.**

 

After another euphoric home win, someone decides the whole squad should hire out the VIP section in one of the flashiest Madrid clubs to celebrate. Isco’s bet is that it was Sergio’s idea, he had scored a great headed goal and is still riding the high. His grin flashes in the strobe lights as he goes to request some more awful songs. 

The night continues, and while the team is aware of their responsibilities, the party mood is catching and the drinks start to flow. Isco buys himself another beer before returning to his conversation with Dani. They have to shout over the pounding bass music to hear each other, but it’s times like these when Isco really appreciates how his teammates are also his friends, as he laughs at Dani's joke.

“Hang on, what’s going on over there?” Dani says, pointing to where there was a crowd forming. The current David Guetta track playing is stopped, and another one starts with a cheer from the huddle. One with filthy Spanish lyrics and a slower beat. Isco shrugs at Dani and they silently agree to wander over. 

Isco weaves in and out of people in the throng, until he reaches Iker, who is looking on with a little reproaching frown and a soda and lime. 

“Hey wh-“ Isco begins, but stops after he follows Iker’s line of vision.

The crowd had formed around James and Marcelo. Isco is not sure if it is supposed to be a dance lesson or competition, but his eyes are glued on James grinding his hips in time to the music. Of course, everyone had seen the Colombian National team’s goal celebrations in the World Cup, someone had even given James the nickname ‘Shakira’. But seeing it up close and personal is something else.

Isco guesses James has had a few drinks himself, the red in his cheeks from alcohol and exertion rather than embarrassment. He seems to radiate confidence as his hips and torso roll to the music, his grin wide and boastful. Isco is staggered by how he shows off for the audience, smirking at their whistles. The pace of the music picks up tempo, and so does James, rhythm flowing downright sinfully through his body. Isco desperately tries to keep his gaze above the belt.

 

When the song nears the end, and Isco’s brain feels fried, Marcelo admits defeat with good grace. He hears _I can’t compete with that, little man_ over everyone’s hollering and shouts, as Marcelo grabs James in a half hug-half headlock. Both of them panting and smiling.

Iker chooses this moment to reach over to Isco, and pointedly push his jaw closed with his index finger. Isco finally drags his eyes off James to look at Iker, dumbstruck.

“You were catching flies.” Iker says, a quietly smug smile on his face as takes another sip of his responsible, old-man drink.

He turns away to gaze balefully at the wedge of lime stuck in the neck of his bottle. He takes a big gulp of beer and decides he’s not going to even deny it. 

 

Later, Isco finds himself standing outside leaning against a wet and dingy alley wall. He’d been a little unsteady since his conversation with Iker, and when he saw the fire exit door, he saw his opportunity for a break. 

He looks up at the winter sky, a small sliver visible to him between two buildings, and watches the vapour from his breath float up to the stars. He leans his head back until it hits the brickwork and shuts his eyes. He tries to listen to the sound of traffic instead of whatever that song was, which is still circling round his head. He counts his breaths as the freezing night air helps to clear his mind.

“There you are” James peeks round the door before he steps around and shuts it behind him. Isco could laugh, or maybe cry. “I was asking around for you but no one knew where you went..”

“Yeah, sorry…I guess I just needed to take a minute”

James hums sympathetically as he walks closer. He stops close to Isco, leaning his shoulder against the wall so he is facing him. Isco could feel the heat radiating from his proximity.

“One too many?” He asks.

“Maybe” Isco smiles wryly, he turns his face to look at James and almost regrets it. James is watching him cautiously; the contrast between his present shyness and his smirking arrogance from earlier sends Isco’s head spinning. He turns to look up at the sky again, counting how long it takes the distant flashing of a plane to disappear out of sight.

“I saw you dancing earlier” He hadn't intended to sound so serious.

“Oh,” Isco risks another glance and sees James looking at his feet, the downward cast of his eyes reminding him vividly of their moment on the training pitch, their hands cradled together. “..what did you think then? Should I do it professionally?”

Isco can’t help but laugh “No.”

“No?” James looks at him, unsure whether to smile or be offended. Isco looks back, eyes trying to take in as much as they can at one time. It takes him a while to reply.

“No. You’re too good a footballer, and I’d miss playing with you too much.” The honesty in his words makes him self-conscious, he looks towards the opposite facing wall when he says it.

There’s silence, then James leans forward and kisses him quickly on the cheek. His lips land for just a second on Isco’s cheekbone before he pulls back a few inches. Isco doesn’t say a word but he turns his body to face James’, his eyes looking up to James’ eyes then down to his mouth. Thrillingly slow, Isco leans to close the gap between them. The last thing he sees before his mouth meets James is his eyelids fluttering shut.

Their noses push together as they kiss, figuring each other out for a second. Isco places his hands on those hips that compelled him so much earlier, and delights in how James moves where his hands tell him. Isco is now pressing James into the wall, his mouth warm and pliant under his own. His lips, hyper-sensitive, tingle as James' breath lands on them, before he returns greedily to the other man's mouth. He feels James’ hand on his back pulling their bodies closer. Isco’s quiet moan is immediately swallowed by James’ mouth, as their tongues slide together. Isco could probably stay like this forever, feeling how James reacts to his touch, a repeating cycle of sensation and movement. 

He feels James’ hand on his neck, his thumb strokes a line down the soft skin behind his ear. He’s so captivated he barely hears the door open.

 

Gareth freezes in the doorway of the fire exit, having looked up from his phone. Isco takes a step back, his hands still resting on James’ hips. James’ hand falls from his neck to rest on his chest. 

“Oh, sorry” Gareth says, he looks embarrassed, not knowing where to look, so he chooses a patch on the floor “Shit, uh, I’m gonna..sorry.” 

Silence follows Gareth’s hasty exit. James looks past Isco’s shoulder and drops his hand to his side. Isco can’t stop staring at his mouth, breathing heavy and red no doubt like his own. Isco wonders if James’ face tingles from the brush of his beard on his cheeks. 

When he finally looks up to James’ eyes he watches as his expression becomes guarded and wary. He’s just about to say something, he wants to say something reassuring. James beats him to it.

“Um, this was..I’m going to” He takes a solidifying breath “leave, I’m going to leave now.”

He pushes Isco gently backwards a step and he can only watch as James quickly goes back inside. He shuts the door before Isco manages to say anything out loud.

 

**5.**

 

The next morning, James wakes with a head full of disrupted dreams from a rough night’s sleep. He’s not hungover, he’d only drunk enough to get pleasantly buzzed last night. Unlike Isco, whose dazed expression after Gareth had interrupted them was evidence enough. James is furious at himself for kissing a teammate while they were drunk, he’s not that pathetic to take advantage of someone when they’re vulnerable, he’s really not.

Especially seeing as it was Isco, he can’t believe he’s potentially ruined a great friendship by being greedy and wanting more. James spends the rest of the day feeling sorry for himself, appreciating the fact it’s a rest day and he doesn’t have to face his teammates until tomorrow. 

By the time the sun rises the next day, James is already dressed. He decides it’ll be best just to avoid Isco, the way he sees it Isco will be trying to do the same. James doesn’t want to embarrass him by causing a commotion. Anyway, like anything in football, they’ll both forget about it eventually.

James tells himself this when he drives into training and again when he keeps his head down and stays quiet in the changing room. He’s walking on to the pitch when someone mentions the other night.

 

“Hey” Pepe sing-songs the greeting “There’s our little dancer!”

“James, we were thinking, maybe next time you’re on the bench – you could choreograph a cheerleading routine for everyone?” Sergio says joining them, he throws an arm round James “It would totally boost team morale. I’ve talked it over with _El mister_ , he thinks it would really work.”

“You two are such bullshitters, oh my god.” James moans, but their joking puts him at ease. He still speeds up his pace to escape them though.

“Think about it James. We’ll get you pompoms.”

 

It is only in the warm-up, when they start the paired up stretches that James first glimpses Isco. He’s not looking at him, but at his warm-up partner, Toni. James sweeps around for someone to pair up with and he finds Gareth looking at him with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, I’ll go with you?” He asks, James can only nod, unsure of what to say. 

They carry out the stretches with practised ease, James focuses on the pull and relax of his muscles. James can tell Gareth is building up to saying something, assembling the correct Spanish words into a sentence in his head.

“You want to say something about the other night?” James says, it comes out as more of a statement than a question.

“Uh, yes actually… I just want you to know that, you can trust me not to tell anyone about what I saw. If you two are a secret, I completely respect that and you don’t have to worry.” Gareth’s wobbly Welsh accent makes his words sound even more sincere somehow. James has to smile at the earnest expression on his face.

“Look, Gareth thank you. But, me and Isco aren’t a secret…we’re not anything really.” Gareth looks surprised “That’s the only time anything has opened.”

“Oh, sorry.” Gareth says “But you want it to be..?” 

James is a little floored by Gareth’s perceptiveness.

“Yes, I think I do.” James stares at the turf when he says it, feeling like a pathetic schoolboy.

“You two should talk.” James can’t believe he’s taking relationship advice from Gareth Bale. But then, if you’ve been in love with the same person since high school, it must all seem so simple. “From what I saw, you were both equally...um, involved. It is worth a conversation, isn’t it?”

James nods dubiously. The realist part of him begs him not to get his hopes up, while his heart pounds a little louder at Gareth's encouragement.

 

Their training session is intense, probably Carlo punishing them for the night out, so James doesn’t get a second to talk to Isco till the end of the day. Most of the squad are in the changing room but he hangs back, until he sees Isco turning the corner of the corridor, almost bumping into him.

“Hi,” James says after an uncertain pause, unable to read the other’s expression “I just wanted to say sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Yeah,” James groans internally, was he really going to make him say it. “for kissing you. I shouldn’t have done it.”

James doesn’t know if he’s ever he felt lower than this. 

“I kissed you too, didn’t I?” A smile breaking out on Isco’s face and James’ stomach swoops as he takes a step closer. “Surely that counts for something.”

James watches his face and sees only the same warmth he saw when they first met, only now it is ten times as intense. It feels like the sun on a scorching Madrid morning, his fears melt away in seconds. They spend a minute just staring again, it hits James that he probably spends far too much time staring at Isco, but he can’t get himself to stop. 

Someone who can get him to stop, however, is the manager of Real Madrid and Carlo does exactly when he rounds the corner. James steps back to ensure the distance between the two of them appears strictly professional.

“Isco, get to physio now. I need you fit for the derby this Saturday so get that calf checked out.” Carlo isn’t a man to waste breath.

“Yes boss.” Isco nods, he twists his mouth in a private, bittersweet smile towards James before following Carlo down the corridor.

James is beginning to wonder if they are never going to get a second to themselves. But his chest thumps at the promise of Isco’s smile. 

 

**+1.**

 

Isco looks up at the clock, he sees it overrun the three minutes of injury time. He looks round the stadium, surrounded by a massive halo of thousands of whistling fans, baying for the final whistle. Finally, the referee blows and everywhere erupts with noise. 

He watches Sergio run over to hug Iker who looks a little weepy. Isco guesses it is the memories of their last win over Atletico with a four-one scoreline. He feels someone hug him from behind and looks over his shoulder to see Benz, ecstatic.

Isco grins as Benz thanks him for the assist, squeezing him tight. 

“Sweet goal from yourself too” He says as he lets Isco go. 

They had hit them on the counter, when Atletico were desperately searching for the equaliser. Isco remembers sprinting up the pitch, in anticipation of a cross from James, who had just received the ball from Luka. He turned on the spot, looked up to see Isco in the box, and hooked it over the nearest defender. Isco stretched for the header and heard the celebratory roar of the crowd as he fell to the ground and landed on his back, staring up at the grey sky. The inevitable pile-on was suffocating and uncomfortable, but Isco was too elated to care. Especially as James was the body closest, crushed on top of his own. When they had all untangled and stood, he looked for James again, but he was busy doing some secret handshake with Marcelo.

The two of them had not talked again since Carlo had interrupted them, still missing the right times. Isco was not worried though, he knows now they are on the same page. He just needs the right moment. 

 

Isco is quickly rushed into press, he’s jealous as the rest of his team get to leave down the tunnel together so he rushes through the interviewer’s questions. The interview passes in a blur, his answers probably make no sense but his mind is miles away. 

He’s finally let go and he makes his way back to the changing room, he can hear singing and laughter before he even opens the door. He opens it and is greeted by steam from the showers and his team in various stages of undress, chatting and taking pictures. 

Some of the guys high-five and congratulate him as he weaves his way through, not stopping, his eyes only on the lookout for one person. 

He sees him standing on his own on the other side of the room, his eyes on the shirt he has just taken off. From this far away Isco can’t tell, but it looks like he is running his fingers over the crest on his shirt. The feeling is familiar.

He puts the shirt down on his bench and when he stands straight, he locks eyes with Isco, something about his shy grin triggers Isco’s legs to walk. Isco keeps his gaze locked on him as they both make their way towards each other, meeting somewhere in the middle of the room in their own pocket of space. He reaches up and places both his hands gently on the sides of James’ head, keeping him in place as his fingers thread into the hair at the back of his head. James takes hold of the front of his shirt and pulls him in. 

 

It doesn’t take long for the others to notice them kissing, he hears their catcalls and whistling and he smiles against James’ mouth. But he’s too focused on the feel of James’ mouth again and the new thrill of his bare chest against his own. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've properly finished a story on here so hopefully it's not awful. feel free to let me know what you think.  
> i'm on tumblr at bloomfielding.


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